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Curves of quickest descent

Police car. White lights. Glaring bright and he ducked his head under one of his flesh arms, but they were already moving, swinging up and into an alcove set into the side of the building and setting their bundle down there. For once, they couldn't let themselves be seen. Harry Osborn wouldn't be a very good supplier if the cops got to him. He hunkered down to wait a few minutes.

Behind them, the Spiderman stirred a little. He glanced back to confirm the video feed.

Kill him?

No, we need him to trade for the tritium. Osborn will kill him.

The other arms wove in complex patterns above the body, unsettled. Hurt us.

And Osborn will hurt him. Don't worry, it's all taken care of.

His extensors continued to probe through the air. Pretty.

Pretty--? He swallowed. Our Rosie is dead.

Pretty...

Rosie is dead, she's gone. We're not ever going to see her again, can't you understand that?

Find...other pretty things. And an extensor fell through the air, arresting itself just short of Spiderman's mask and snapping a blue glow into life in the center of its tines. Four angles of the view on the man crowded into his head, and he rubbed his eyes.

He's our enemy.

He's here.

And he was, lying stretched out, helpless, one arm flung at a strange and graceful angle. In the dim light, the red and the blue of the costume were...oddly harmonious. The color-tinged shadows of the city. He is very striking.

Different. Special. Privileged. Like you. The pincers tugged at the shirt of Spiderman's costume. Pretty.

All right, if we want...

The extensors slid under the shirt, twining around Spiderman's body. The plane of the chest was flat, but muscle fell away on the sides, and the biceps peeped out above the folds of the sleeves. His flesh fingers curled up at the feeling transmitted--warm skin under cold metal. He hadn't touched another like this since--since-- The pincers dug in close for more, scraping and drawing lines of blood up Spiderman's flanks.

Good?

Yes, that's good.

One of the extensors swung around, back to him, and he knew what it was going to do. The arms had tried to--to comfort him from the very beginning. Impulses from his own subconscious, he guessed. He had never quite let them--finish. He kept thinking of Rosie. But Rosie was dead, and he wasn't alone, he had Spiderman to touch, and so it wasn't quite so unthinkable--

He shuddered and closed his eyes as the tines handled him delicately through the cloth. In his head, he could still see Spiderman, the chest rising and falling from different angles. One view veered away, heading downwards, and then the arm had wrapped itself around Spiderman's penis and started stroking it to hardness. The other two arms withdrew from under the shirt to plant themselves near him, raise him up off his feet as they caressed them both at once. As each stroke brought him closer, he felt himself surrendering more to their own power than he ever had before.

Then one snaked up to Spiderman's mask. Face?

Yes...face...face...

It turned the edge of the mask up slowly as he watched and throbbed. A gentle chin...heavy cheeks...smooth full lips, and...and...

The pincers jerked away, yanking the mask back into place, snapping anxiously all around Spiderman's face, and its grip on him was so painful he yelled.

What are you doing? He willed the arm back, but it wouldn't move. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the other extensors had released Spiderman and they were huddled together tightly.

Don't be ridiculous. I can't--He started forward, stretching out a flesh arm, but pincers caught his wrist.

Don't!

Why not? It could be useful information, it could...

The extensors drooped. Don't...

He frowned. Spiderman groaned faintly and stirred again. One of the extensors struck quick as lightning, knocking him out.

Don't.

All right. All right. If that's what we think is best.

They chirruped faintly and curled around him, petting.

Enough of this. We need to get the tritium from Osborn. Let's go.

This time as he climbed, he held Spiderman in just one set of claws. The free arm curled around his waist, gently stroking his back.


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